


Whack

by cmshaw



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, ds_undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-23
Updated: 2004-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmshaw/pseuds/cmshaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vecchio played bad cop and I played bad cop too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whack

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the [ds_undercover](http://ds-undercover.livejournal.com/8685.html) challenge.

This morning, Vecchio picked the lock on the door and kicked it in, gun in hand, and we stormed into the room yelling our damned heads off about how we were the police and they had better take their rights and shut the fuck up.

For lunch, we grabbed crap out of the vending machines and ate it standing in the break room, waiting for an interrogation room to free up. Vecchio was wearing the blue shirt that stuck to his back when it was hot out like it was and he was growling at me like he was really pissed, or equally like he was looking at the way I hadn't shaved this morning and wishing we had time to duck out and let me give him some stubble burn on his stomach from a good and messy blowjob with lots of feeling.

This afternoon, we sweated it out in an airless room. Vecchio played bad cop and I played bad cop too. We said, "You whack that guy?" and the three bastards said, "Ain't us, man!" and Vecchio sneered and I yelled and then we did it again. They spat at us. We spat back. Round about four, Frannie knocked on the door with lab results for us to fling on the floor and scream about to the three bastards. Round about four-thirty, they cracked and admitted to the whacking, which was about fucking time, since we knew they'd done it and it was just a matter of making all the damn ducks line up.

By ten we, that's Vecchio and me, we'd finished the paperwork and finished half the pizza and we were just getting started fucking each other across the arm of my old sofa, still sweating and feeling dirty and needing it so bad that we couldn't even look at each other, just fumble half-blind at belts and condoms and each others' cocks. I bent over and held myself open for Vecchio and he fucked me hard, bruised my ass and my arm where he held on to me so tight. When he let go I flipped over so my sore ass landed on the cushions and he climbed on top of me and sank down on my cock while he balanced with his hands slipping on my sweaty shoulders and I bit his knuckles when I came in his ass. Then we finished the pizza.

That's not how it would have gone with Fraser, of course. Fraser'd've had a legit reason, an actually legit reason instead of a fudged one that we'd just have to hope would slide in court, to kick down that door, and he'd've insisted on fresh sandwiches, and he would not have played good cop because he wouldn't have been playing, he would have actually been good and probably let the bastards go and then they'd've confessed anyway or some shit, and then we'd've called for Chinese instead of pizza because Fraser usually doesn't -- didn't -- want pizza. And we would not have fucked on the sofa, or on the hallway, or on the kitchen table. We would not have fucked even in my bed, not even if I'd put on fresh sheets that morning and turned the covers down and plumped the damn pillows.

Tomorrow it's my turn to kick the door down.


End file.
